


Violets in Spring

by colonellaurens



Category: Winesburg Ohio - Sherwood Anderson
Genre: F/F, Flower Language, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbians, Loneliness, Slow Burn, basically i wrote this for english class, gross hamilton reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6072532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonellaurens/pseuds/colonellaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alice Hindman has to accept the fact that some people must live and die alone, even in Winesburg. She finds that every day is a struggle, but life still goes on. Anne Hurley, the niece the middle aged drug clerk that used to walk home with Alice, is in Winesburg for a few months. In spending time with Anne for such a short amount of time, Alice discovers so much more about herself than she had ever imagined, and begins to realise that somehow, some things aren't meant to last. And that's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violets in Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Written for English class as an assignment in four hours. This seems to be the first work in the Winesburg, Ohio fandom, and I do hope that those of you who happen to stumble across this work enjoy it. I tried my best to imitate Anderson's writing style, but that man is a genius. Set directly after the chapter "Adventure".

Unbeknownst to Alice, there had been more than the old man present at the time of her adventure. A niece of Will Hurley going by the name of Anne had decided to take a stroll in the rain that very night. She had been visiting Winesburg from a place where rain fell perhaps once every few months, and was excited to hear the distantly familiar sound of water falling upon the earth.

Anne Hurley recalled, with silent elation at the moment that she heard Alice calling to the deaf old man that Alice and she had met on one specific occasion during her first week in Winesburg when her uncle had brought her into the dry goods store to purchase some prunes. They had smiled at each other, Alice out of politeness, and Anne out of careful interest. She noticed that, despite her apparent age, Alice bore no ring betrothing her to another. That, however, had been in the late days of August.

In the early fall of Alice’s twenty-seventh year, Anne had found herself frequenting the dry goods store sometimes once a week, sometimes twice a week, after the night of Alice’s burst of youth, something that Alice herself had tried not to notice.

Anne was a careful sort of woman. She had not yet allowed her heart to be captured by a man who might very well deprive her of small liberties, such as taking a stroll in the rain after the sun’s footprints had faded from the sky, or even giving a female friend that she admired a bouquet of violets. Anne Hurley liked to believe that she had a particular sort of  _ taste _ when it came to engaging in partnerships with others, and it seemed that Alice had piqued her interest.

As the seasons shifted, and Winesburg had experienced its first snowfalls, Alice had taken a private liking to Anne. The two women had begun walking home together from time to time, sometimes engaging in conversation, sometimes walking in comfortable silence the whole way. Alice was not quite sure when she had begun to feel so very comfortable in Anne’s presence.  _ Perhaps it is the way that every movement she makes is carefully planned out _ , Alice thought. It was one of the constant things that she could rely on in her life.

As they walked their usual route one chilly evening, Alice and Anne side by side, Alice noticed Anne walking slightly  _ closer _ than she usually does. Alice found, strangely, that she did not mind. They had exchanged a few words earlier on in the walk, but now they walked silently. Side by side. There was no need for words, but as Anne’s soft hand brushed gently against Alice’s own, something that only Ned had done before holding her hand in his all those years ago, a spark of what can only be described as a yearning was felt deep within her. She felt as though she were still with Ned, except that she was with a woman, and this truly startled her. It had startled her so much that she had stopped in her tracks, and wondered why the ever careful Anne would  _ deliberately _ do something so intimate. What startled her more was that she did not mind the touch at all. In fact, she found herself yearning for  _ more _ of it, and when asked what was wrong, she simply said that she had forgotten that she had to do something for the church that evening, and sent Anne home ahead of her.

That night, her thoughts were filled with Anne Hurley, and what might become of them. For once, she did not think of Ned at all.

When Alice faced Anne the next Sunday at the church, her face had begun to redden a bit, and she felt her heart quicken when she spoke to Anne.

“Are you alright?” Anne had asked her. “You left last night in such a hurry.” She then added, as an afterthought: “You haven’t fallen ill, have you? Your face is flushed.”

Alice could only look at her friend, helpless, and Anne immediately understood.

“Come, dear,” she’d said, and Alice tried not to admit to herself that the term of endearment had made her feel joyful and sinful but oh so youthful at the same time. In fact, she had tried to crush these feelings immediately. “Tell me what ails you.”

Alice had found that over the weeks in which the two women had known each other, it had become difficult to deny Anne insight into her life. They walked into the wood with the other young people on that Sunday, and Alice told her all of her troubles that she had begun facing over a decade ago. The trees were barren and a slight breeze had stolen through the spaces left over, and for once in her life, Alice felt as though she was truly being understood by another. Alice spilled all of the feelings that she had never told a soul to Anne, everything from the crippling loneliness she felt in the first years that Ned Currie had stolen for the city and forgotten her, to her evening of adventure in the rain that had ended up in disaster. She even admitted that that night, she had faced the fact that many people must live and die alone, even in Winesburg, and accepted it as truth. The words “ _ despite all of this, I do not blame Ned Currie _ ” stuck in her throat, and she wondered why.

Sadness swept over her because she did not know who or what to blame after all of this but instead of dropping to her knees and praying again, she landed into Anne’s arms, and began to sob quietly. Alice did wonder if the feeling she felt as Anne gently stroked her hair was the happiness she had been searching for all these years, but thinking of all the repercussions of acting rashly now made her kill that thought in its tracks and simply allowed Anne to embrace and comfort her. Alice felt as if Anne truly understood her. She could not allow herself to do something foolish.

The following morning, Anne approached Alice at eight in the morning, just as Alice was beginning her shift at the dry goods store.

“Good morning,” Anne said.

“Good morning,” Alice echoed. “How are you?”

“I am alright, but there is something I need to tell you.”

At this, Alice set aside her opened bank book, filled with savings and distant dreams to travel with Ned, and gave her full attention to Anne. There was a brief moment in which Alice thought that Anne might rebuke her for the way she had sobbed into her arms the day before, but it had passed as soon as Anne started talking.

“Come spring, I have to leave.”

Alice paused a moment. “You’re leaving too?”

“Unfortunately. My stay in Winesburg was only temporary. I am sailing off to London.”

Alice felt, strangely, that she was going to cry and she didn’t know why. She knew Anne for such a short time. It seemed like she was being cheated again. 

 

Again, Alice had to face the harsh reality that some people must live and die alone. As January came and went, the two women became closer still, spending much of their free time alone in each other’s company. With February, Alice had stopped thinking of Ned Currie. St Valentine’s Day had came and went, and her mother had pestered her to find a man to marry while she still has the hips for it and she found that she should follow her mother’s advice. There was no doubt in her mind that Ned Currie was never coming back. She had embraced this as truth but she could never form a similar sort of bond with another man. Perhaps she was too stubborn, she thought. 

When Alice thought of being in a man’s company, her thoughts had always gone back to Anne. She did not know why. She thought it was wrong how she was feeling towards both sexes.  

With March, the snow melted and everything stirred to life in a matter of weeks. The warmer weather was welcomed for many, but for Alice, she could not have felt more distraught. Anne was soon leaving, this much she had known for months, but the feelings that came with such knowledge had made her question much of what she’d known.

One day, Anne invites her to a picnic. 

Beyond the open fields, are patches of now-lush woodlands where lovers go to sit on Sundays in the spring. The day just so happens to be Sunday and Alice finds herself meeting Anne in town, walking towards the woodlands where lovers sit in the spring. Anne picks the place they sit and sets up the blanket. The two are silent for completely different reasons. Alice, because the area was rather secluded, and Anne because she was about to do something that she may or may not rue. 

Anne produces a bouquet of violets from the picnic basket when Alice looks elsewhere and clears her throat. Over the past few months, Anne has observed Alice’s reactions to each and every thing she did, carefully, slowly, until she realised that all she has to lose is Alice herself, as Anne would be leaving the following week. 

Alice turns around. Anne is handing the bouquet to her. She looks up at Anne, a bit bewildered. Alice is no fool. She knows what  _ violets _ mean. She reaches for them and she is suddenly struck by the  _ wrongness _ of this situation.

“This, this is wrong,” she says, retracting her hand. “No. No, I can’t accept these, I...this is  _ wrong _ , Anne.” 

Alice Hindman shakes her head, unable to come up with words to convey how disgusted she is with herself for even  _ wanting _ this to happen.  _ I should be with a man _ , she tells herself. 

_ But she doesn’t believe it.  _

“ _ Alice _ ,” Anne says, and it leaves Alice  _ defenseless _ . “Listen to me. What have you got to lose?” Alice doesn’t know. “I mean this with love, but do you think that Ned is coming back from the city?”  _ Alice doesn’t know. _ She’s stopped believing he would a long, long time ago, but some sort of childish indignation prevents her from letting go completely. 

_ She could never marry another man. When other young men tried to attract her attention she would have nothing to do with them. _

And in a moment of clarity Alice realises that the only  _ man _ she could ever love was Ned. Ned Currie, who had left her all those years ago with nothing but a memory that he was real. She knows that Ned loved her. But as she looks at Anne, she realises the same thing. 

 

She decides to take the bouquet of violets.  _ Violets _ . Anne understands her. She understands what Alice wants before Alice even accepts it. And suddenly, Anne is pulling Alice to her feet and she kisses her. It is unlike anything Alice has ever felt. It is soft, loving, and fills Alice with a joy so great, she feels it well up in her chest and surround them both. 

 

And then Anne has to leave. She promises to come back within the year. Alice wonders how true that is. 

She once again has to force herself to face bravely the fact that many people must live and die alone, even in Winesburg. But this time, she is somehow okay with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't know, violets are a symbol of lesbianism. They were often given by women to other women as a way of wooing them, popular in the first half of the 20th century.


End file.
